Ten Days To Listen To Your Mother: Atlanta

Today, my co-director/producer Miranda went to do a walk-through with the lighting tech at The Earl Smith Strand Theatre for our show. When she walked out, y’all, THIS was on the marquee.


It just got real, y’all.

In ten days, TEN DAYS, this event we’ve worked so hard on will be happening.

Have I told you about our cast? I don’t even know where to start. The cast of this show is amazing. I swear you will laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll laugh til you cry, and you may even wet your pants. (Warning: Use the potty before entering)

We’ve held a few rehearsals and it feels like a family now. We laugh and cry together. We’ve heard stories that haven’t yet been told out loud from each other. We are making magic.


We’re not professionals. We’re not even all mothers. Heck, one of us is even a guy! But we’re all bonded by our stories, and now by being in the Listen To Your Mother family.


Please join us on Saturday, April 26, at The Earl Smith Strand Theatre in Marietta, at 7pm for a show that celebrates all-things-motherhood. Bring a group or come alone. Bring tissues to wipe tears of laughter and tears of sadness.

I promise you’ll leave wanting more and feeling like a member of the family.



Have you ever felt like you were drowning? It’s my worst fear. I would rather die in fire or from falling out of a plane that to drown. Maybe it’s because I don’t like to swim, or because I’m a Sagittarius. It’s probably because I can’t hold my breath very long and was always the first one up during Country Club Pool hold-your-breath contests.

Last night I dreamed about drowning in the Country Club Pool.

I’m pretty sure it’s because after a week of feeling like drowning, I was granted permission to “GO GENTLY WITH YOU.” (thank you, Ann)

Work is crazy. I mean, it’s Spring and I work at a wholesale nursery. It hasn’t rained in over 72 hours (a miracle) and people are itching for NEW! PRETTY! FLOWERS! AND! TREES! OMG! NOW! It’s like putting a puzzle together every day for 8 hours and you keep losing pieces and finding them and finishing the puzzle and then having a wind come by and break it all apart and having to start over.

**comes up for air**

Listen To Your Mother preparations is all-consuming in one of the best ways possible. I’ve never been a part of something so amazing. There’s so much behind the scenes stuff involved with directing/producing a live show…

And as Eminem says, “My OCD’s conking me in the head.” For me this means if everything can’t be done right and right now, I freeze and nothing gets done right or done right now. But I’m conking my OCD right back in the head. My hammer might not be as big as its is, but I’m trying.

Speaking of the show, if you’re anywhere near Atlanta, why haven’t you bought tickets? Do that. Like, NOW. The show is in less than 2 weeks. (Have you bought tickets? WHY NOT?)

**panics and comes up for air**

Did I mention life is pulling me into the riptide? Laundry piles are everywhere. Dishes are still in the sink, which I HATE more than I hate cauliflower. Dust is collecting. Pollen is adding to that dust. Homework and back-talking and sick germs never end.

We have to move at the end of June. Our lease is up and we don’t want to leave the school district but finding a rental is going to be hard and we’re not sure we want to buy right now and looking for houses that will fit all our needs is nearly impossible.

**pushes all that to the end of the to do list and comes up for air**

As I feel like I’m being pulled under, under, under, I realize that I can see the light up there. It’s bright and sends rays through the chlorinated water that burns my skin. I hear others splashing around and see that I’m getting closer to the surface. I must’ve floated to the shallow end because I can touch the ground below me, the concrete scratching my feet. My face breaks the surface of the water, and I gasp for air and feeling the sun shine on my face.

This too shall pass.

And until it does, I’ll just keep swimming – flapping my arms and coming up for air as often as I can.

The Coat Closet

After my Grannie died in September, the big challenge was obviously going through the house where she and my Grandaddy had lived for 50+ years. Her house was meticulously organized, even her extra bedroom-turned-closet.

One of the first things my mom and aunt tackled was the large collection of linens. It was no secret that Grannie loved linens. Tablecloths, napkins, towels, OMGTHEHANDTOWELS, sheets, and comforters. They kept the ones they wanted for themselves and gave the others away to places that might be able to use them.

The other thing that was no secret that my Grannie AND Grandaddy shared a love for was their collection of coats, jackets, and sweaters. There were dozens, if not over a hundred. Because living in Southwest Central Georgia requires a large collection of winter wear.

Whatever: old people get cold.

Anyway, there was a large collection. None of the grandchildren wanted or needed any of the items and neither did my mom or aunt. They would be better served with people who truly needed them.

A little before Christmas, my mom and aunt packed them up and my mom rode around with them in her car for a while. Right before our first big winter storm of this year (who knew), I told her she needed to look for a coat closet of some sort to give them to or take them to Goodwill or the Salvation Army. People NEEDED the coats and she had them all in her car.

She called around to different churches, asking if they had a ministry that would take them. They all sent her to another church and another and another. Nobody had a coat ministry.

Finally, my mom got a man on the phone at a church that said, “Yes ma’am, come on and bring them to me at your convenience.”

So she did.

When she arrived at the church, the ladies in the office were very confused. Apparently they didn’t have a coat closet ministry, and my mom must surely have the wrong church. They talked back and forth for a few minutes, wondering who my mom confused them with, when they heard a man’s voice from the back office.

“Is that the lady with the coats?”

Even more confused, they answered, “Yes,” and he came to greet my mom.

The ladies kept on, “But we don’t HAVE a coat ministry, Pastor. Did you really talk to her?”

“Ladies,” he said. “We’ve never had a coat closet, but there’s a need for one. She has coats to give us, so we now have a coat closet ministry.”

Before my mom left, he shared a few more words with him. He told her, “God provided the coats for the closet; now He will direct us to the need for them.”

And so the coat closet ministry at that church was started.

And so it ever shall be.


Enough is Enough

Seriously. I’m tired of it.

Enough is enough.

Babies have to stop dying. Parents need to stop having to choose tiny caskets that can be picked up by one person. Have you ever seen one? Just the casket itself will give you nightmares.

I’m pissed.

I can’t believe it’s 2014 and there are still as many people burying their babies as there are. I know, if we were in the 1800′s or even 50 years ago, it would be more. But damn.

It’s not fair.

Yeah, something good will come from it. A lot of people do great things in the wake of devastating and bring-you-to-your-knees situations, but WHY DO WE STILL HAVE TO GO THROUGH THIS?

Every time I hear of a new baby who won’t get to have a birthday party, go to kindergarten, get married, or even take his first steps, I cry. Mostly, because I can’t take it away from the person suffering the new loss. I’ve been there. I would rather take their pain than have ANYbody else in this world  have to feel those stages of grief.

And that is how I feel this Sunday morning.

Enough is enough.

The Ace Bandage Incident

I got a call from school the other day. Monday, in fact, after I’d been gone all the previous week and NEEDED to be at work for at least 16 hours that day.

The nurse started out by saying, “It’s not an emergency” as usual. But then went on to tell me that this was the second time he had been to her office complaining about his knee hurting. Now he was dragging it. I should probably come and take him to the doctor.

She put him on the phone and he sounded pitiful. “Mom, I didn’t tell you, but I hurt it on Saturday. It didn’t hurt too bad until yesterday at lunch, but we were having a lazy day so I didn’t really tell you then. Can you come get me?”

So I went and got him. I drove 45 minutes to get him, took him immediately to Urgent Care where they looked at him and prescribed advil and rest.

He looked at the doctor and said, “But I’ll need an ace bandage, right?”

Right then I knew I’d been had. The boy just wanted an ace bandage.

I remember those days. “Mom, my ankle hurts, can I get an ace bandage? Mom, I hurt my wrist, can I get an ace bandage? Mom, my XYZ hurts, can I get an ace bandage?”

I knew how to wrap every joint on my body with precise, medical-grade precision. I could have been a sports medicine doctor at age 9. Now my son was doing the same thing. Which begs the question, “Are kids born knowing what ace bandages are?”

The doctor told him it wouldn’t really help, but he insisted. “So advil and an ace bandage will help it feel better, right?”

She finally, after looking at me, agreed that it might make it feel a little better.

Off to work we went. A 45 minute drive back so I could keep on catching up on the million things that were on my desk gave us time to discuss the fact that unless he’s got a bone sticking out of his body, blood coming out of his body, vomit coming out of his body, or a fever that is insane, he doesn’t need to have me come pick him up from school. Ever.

After dragging his leg the rest of the afternoon like he needed to have it amputated, we stopped and got him an ace bandage.

And whaddya know?

No more knee pain.

It was an ace bandage miracle!

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